Everything's Gonna Be Cool This Christmas
by AsWeAreNow
Summary: America somehow manages to spend so many Christmases alone that when England asks him to come over, he doesn't hesitate. Other nations show up, too, but one of them keeps getting left out.


With the last ornament hung up, America was done decorating. He smiled to himself, taking a step back to take it all in. The decorations were minimalistic; he didn't want to impose anything on anyone. A miniature pine tree sat in the front room, decorated with colourful glass baubles to avoid Santa Claus or anything too Christmas-y— aside from the tree itself, of course.

He'd almost considered putting up snowflakes, and then realized he didn't have any. America had gotten rid of them years ago, wondering why anyone would want to bring the cold farther (further?) inside.

He went back to the dining room, checking to see when the cookies would be done as he took a sip of eggnog. Twenty minutes, which was perfect.

He sat and waited at the dinner table for awhile, humming along to Christmas music.

Twenty minutes later, he took the cookies out of the oven and decided to watch a Christmas movie.

So he did that.

And waited.

And waited.

America tried not to be disappointed. After all, after the obligatory 'Yeah, America, we'll see if we can clear our schedules' no one had responded. America knew he should'vd taken that as a sign of rejection, but could one blame him for being hopeful? He even offered to pay for their flights!

Still, there were days until Christmas. It wasn't like he was asking for their holiday.

_Couldn't Mexico and Canada have at least showed up? _He wondered. It was only a few hours of air travel for Mexico, and Canada could drive. It would've been a rather short event.

After awhile, he came to the conclusion that perhaps it was a bit much to ask.

Still, he did the same thing for years afterward.

(Linebreak.)

A few years later, America received a boss that made America's reputation his bitch. America knew the other nations probably didn't like him very much, so he didn't bother to invite anybody.

And yet, on December 18th, England texted him asking if he would come over for the holidays.

America called him immediately. "Why do you want me to come over? You never want to see me."

"Hello to you, too," England grumbled. "I want you to come over because nobody's seen you in awhile." Actually, England wanted him to come over because America's boss was seen as foolish and thus dangerous to a good few of the European nations, and he wanted to make sure that the UK stayed on America's good side— but he couldn't tell America that, of course.

"Fine. I'll book the flight, if it reassures you," America replied. "I... I, um... I have to go now. I'll see you in a bit."

"Can you come over tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? That's an expensive flight. If I can even find one."

"I'll reimburse you," England promised. Anything to keep a strong alliance. "Did you already have plans, by any chance?"

"No," America responded, all too quickly. "I don't, usually."

"What do you usually do around the holidays, then?" England asked.

"Volunteer. That type of thing, you know?"

"Sure," England said, even though he didn't. "When was the last time you spent the holidays with someone?"

"I dunno. Awhile ago, I guess."

"That sucks," England mumbled. He tried to think of something else to say, but—

"It's fine," America beat him to it. "That's how it is most years, anyway."

England frowned. "America, I know... I know you usually spend Christmas alone— but everything's going to be great this Christmas! I promise!"

"You promise?" America asked, a tad amused.

"Yep! A gentleman always keeps his promises!" England was freaking out inside over such a stupid promise— and for America, of all people. _I couldn't care about that stupid pig if I tried! _England told himself. Still, what America had said was just so... depressing.

A few moments of silence passed.

America murmured a 'Bye' and hanged up. England made a few more phone calls.

(Linebreak.)

England drove to the airport to pick America up the next day. They ate at a restaurant and then continued driving to England's house.

England wanted to say something, but he was fairly worried that he'd give something away. He didn't say anything, instead turning on the radio. Christmas music promptly blasted through the car. "Shit!" England turned it down. The music hummed quietly, and neither of them said anything.

They eventually arrived. "I thought you moved into a smaller house. I didn't know you kept this old mansion," America commented.

"Well..." England had owned it for several hundred years, but it'd been rebuilt entirely. Not to mention that it had been completely barren and utterly neglected until a few days ago.

England just smiled and opened the door.

Two nations were sitting inside.

There was Germany— who probably didn't like him very much. And Canada, too... Not to mention England himself, who probably hated him on behalf of the United Kingdom, if not because America was America.

America just grinned, unsure of what to say.

"America! I'm glad you're here. We've all been waiting for you." Canada was suddenly by his side.

"Have you, really?" America asked. Canada smiled and nodded. "Well, that's nice," America said. He abandoned Canada and England and went to talk to Germany, because at least he had a chance with Germany.

"Hi, Germany. Merry Christmas, I guess. Why did England invite all of us?"

"I don't know," Germany lied. He chased down his sentence with some eggnog. Actually, Germany did know— everyone knew. After hearing America being such a depressing cunt (as England had worded it), England had invited all of the nations that America always invited to his holiday parties. He'd used a bit of an emotional appeal, saying that America seemed kind of upset and wouldn't it be such a stunning act of utter assholery on the other nations' parts if America spent this year alone, too?

The appeal didn't work on anybody, because emotional appeals are useless the majority of the time. Germany and Canada had showed up because they, too, wanted to be on America's good side.

Germany and America just stood there for awhile, neither sure of what to say. Finally, Germany said, "America, have you ever heard of Krampus?"

"Krampus?" America asked, over-pronouncing the 'A' in a very American fashion. "Yeah— I watched the movies."

Germany shook his head. "The movies were stupid."

"The original was good. The others were cheap."

"At least they weren't connected."

"Yeah," America agreed.

They fell back into silence. Finally, Germany said, "But— right! Krampus. At my place, Krampus is the companion of Santa Claus. He finds the naughty children and tortures them."

America just smiled as he poured himself some eggnog. "Boy, Christmas must be fun at your place. Over here, if children are naughty, they just get coal in their stockings." America frowned. "Somehow, I think it might be more traumatic for them than the possibility being dragged to hell and tortured. Maybe 'cause it actually happens," he mused.

"Christmas isn't supposed to be fun for the children. It's supposed to be fun for the adults. If I saw Krampus, I would give him schnapps."

_The most glorious part of this is that I can't tell whether or not he's joking, _America thought.

America didn't know how to respond, and so he just raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his eggnog.

It was sweet, but in certain cases years of innocence can only lead to intolerance. He was a bit overwhelmed, as he hadn't been expecting it— apparently, he'd been too distracted to smell the alcohol. Germany watched, amused, as he forced himself to swallow it. "You drink like a virgin."

"Thanks." He downed the rest of the eggnog, washed the glass, and went upstairs.

(Linebreak.)

America entered his designated guest room and finally set his stuff down. Curiously enough, his room had been decorated with a lot of Christmas ornaments, to the point that it looked like Hobby Lobby on the first of November. The first thing that caught his eye was snowflake ornaments hung around the room, covered in glitter— and then he noticed a tiny blue spruce, decorated with vintage wooden ornaments. It made him feel rather nostalgic, even though he'd never had such ornaments.

His door opened. He looked up. "'Sup, Canadia," he greeted.

Canada forced a smile, more than a little irked. He quickly calmed down. "Hi, America. I hope you don't mind— I took the liberty of decorating your room." Canada sat next to him on the bed.

"It looks awesome, Canada. You did great." America side-hugged him, pulling him close. America could only think of how ironic it was that this was the first time he'd seen Canada in years, even though they were neighbors. And now here they were, thousands of miles away from where either of them lived.

Neither of them spoke, mostly because both of them were a bit afraid of the other. America was afraid of Canada's judgement, and Canada was afraid of physical harm (even though America hadn't ever done anything to him).

"Did England tell you that he invited other nations?" Canada asked.

"Nope."

Silence ebbed and flowed around them. Every once in awhile, America would think someone was coming. Canada wasn't thinking much at all.

A very long time ago, America hadn't liked Canada much. America had grown up faster than Canada had, and so America would stay with Canada while England was doing whatever he did back at home.

The problem wasn't Canada— he really didn't mind watching over Canada, because even if Canada always kind of annoyed him when he was trying to study, he was cute and was very sweet and polite. The problem was that England would come back, and instead of thanking him for taking care of Canada even though America had almost nothing to do with him and it wasn't like Quebec was dependent on any of his colonies, England would yell at him for something his people had done. It got to the point where America was sure that Canada thought he was about as low as the common criminal. America never understood why England would yell at him and make him cry when America was always reading or spending time with Canada.

England was never mad at Canada. That made sense at first, because who would yell at a child? but as Canada grew up, England still was never mad at him. America eventually was able to stop watching over Canada, which was great because now it seemed as though England spent the majority of the time writing angry letters to him, asking him things like, _Can you please stop this foolishness at once? _before launching into an angry rant about how absolutely terrible America was, and then America would actually go out and retaliate because there wasn't a child trailing after him.

Still, he didn't see Canada for, like, 40 years or something, and then he didn't see Canada for quite a few decades. America could only wonder where he was during the World Wars and the Great Depression and all that.

Canada pulled away from him after a moment, which brought him back to the present. "You know, America, you should probably ease up a little sometimes," he said. He left, closing the door softly behind him.

_What the hell is that supposed to mean?_

(Linebreak.)

"America! It's time to decorate the Christmas tree!" England pounded on his door erratically, trying to annoy him as much as possible.

America opened the door. "Okay, I'm coming," he said. England let him go down the stairs first.

"But I thought you'd put the decorations up already?"

"No. I figured all of the nations that showed up could decorate together. Germany helped me pick up the tree earlier."

"Oh, okay," America said.

The tree was huge, and so it was in the front room. It felt kind of strange, because whenever America and England had their mandatory videochats in the past (in order to maintain their 'special relationship,' of course) England had always had his tree in the living room.

"America, could you help me get the bins of decorations?" England asked. And so America followed him into the basement.

They took five trips, and the bins grew increasingly heavy. And when they opened them—

"God, England. You're an old man," America laughed. All of the bins were filled to the brim with Christmas decorations. "Do you ever actually put them all up?"

"Actually," England sniffled, a bit hurt, "I alternate by year. But this year, we can use them all, since we have such a big tree."

England went to YouTube and put on some Christmas music, which of course meant that before every song there was an unskippable advertisement.

They decorated and listened to Christmas music, and it was fun.

"Hey, America, do you want a drink?" England asked.

"Sure. Do you have juice or milk or something?"

"We have gin and eggnog," England shrugged. "Do you want anything?"

America sighed. Alcohol would be fun, but he didn't want to get pissed with nations that used to be close to him and weren't anymore. He filled a glass with water and went back to decorating.

They finished. America finally took hold of a decoration wrapped in frilled, stiff paper. He unwrapped it carefully.

It was a star. America only then realized that they hadn't put the star on the tree.

"Okay, so who wants to put the star on?" America asked. He looked around.

The other three froze, and so America walked up to Canada. "Canada, my dude, you should do it."

Canada shook his head. "That's really sweet, but you can do it if you want—,"

"No, I insist—," America pushed the star towards him.

Canada took it and walked over to England. "America, you should do it," England said.

"No, it's okay," America said. "England, you should—,"

"I don't want to. Canada, how about you—,"

"No, I don't really mind—,"

"Well then, for God's sake, America, just put it up. It's not even that important."

America took it. He started walking to the tree. Germany watched bemusedly. Prussia and Austria had this argument several days ago, and it had lasted well into the night. Germany had to put the star on once they were both passed out.

Germany had went both because he wanted to talk to America and because he figured that more nations than Canada would also arrive. He really had figured that more nations would show, seeing as America still had a few friends— then again, England really didn't, so perhaps he should've expected this.

America turned to Germany. "Germany, you should put it up," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep," America said.

And so Germany put it up.

(Linebreak.)

"America, wake up." England shook him awake.

"Get off of me. Why are you even on me in the first place?" America demanded. It was dark, and he could feel England's weight pressed against him. "I'm— I need to get dressed. Get off of me, you pervert."

England got off of him. "Well, hurry up. We're going to have a nice morning together— just you and I."

"Okay," America said, not entirely convinced that he was going to have anything resembling a nice day. "Get out. I need to get dressed."

England left the room.

America got dressed and slipped with ease into his jacket, and then he opened the door. England immediately started shuffling him to the front door.

"What— Hey, what's the rush?" America demanded.

"Shh— I don't want Canada to know you're the favorite," England whispered.

"Huh. I never felt like the favorite." England smacked him in the back of the head and pushed him outside. He went out after and locked the door.

Once they were in the car, England just drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment, waiting for America to put on his seatbelt.

"So, I was thinking—," England drummed his hands on the steering wheel in a sort of excited rhythm, which might've been entertaining if it didn't freak America out so much to see England happy for once— "We could get ice cream."

"Ice cream? It's the middle of winter," America said.

"Too bad, we're getting ice cream."

Sure enough, twenty minutes later they were at an ice cream place. America had no idea how or why they were open, but when they entered they were the only customers.

They ordered. America offered to pay, but England insisted on paying, so America let him.

And then they sat down with their cups of ice cream, even though it was just as cold outside as it was inside.

They were silent for a moment. And then, "England, why didn't you tell me you were inviting everyone else?"

"How would you know that I invited everyone else?"

"Germany is at your house right now. What the fuck? Who even talks to Germany outside of work, except for Prussia and Austria? And nobody sees them, either!"

England wilted a little. "Okay. So maybe I did invite everyone else, but—,"

"You'd be pissed at me if I invited all of the other nations without telling you," America hissed, even though that wasn't true because nobody ever celebrated Christmas with him. Chances were that if he invited England and England came, no one else would be there.

"But aren't you glad to see them?"

America paused. "Yes," he said carefully. "But I— I wasn't expecting to see them. And anyway, why did you even bother to invite me? It's not fair. I thought I was finally going to spend a Christmas with someone, and instead it's all awkward."

"How so?"

America hesitated. "They hate me. They have to. They have to think I'm annoying."

"They don't hate you, America," England said.

"They think I'm annoying."

England paused. "Okay," he said after a moment. "Hating someone and thinking they're annoying are two different things entirely." America didn't know what to say. England quickly added, "I'm just kidding, America. They don't hate you, and I don't think either of them think of you as annoying. Not too annoying, anyway."

America didn't say anything.

"And I don't hate you, either. Sure, maybe you're a little annoying— but I'm British. I find everyone annoying."

"Thanks, England," America muttered.

They went back home.

(Linebreak.)

America took Canada out to dinner this time. He insisted, and Canada wasn't exactly able to refuse. So they went, and America insisted on paying, too. So Canada let him. They ordered and waited.

They were silent for a long, long time.

Canada couldn't help but think of how he'd gotten here, and the last time he'd seen America, which was during the Second World War.

Canada had been walking out of England's hospital room, holding a stack of papers, and America had bumped into him. Canada just barely managed to keep his papers together. America reached out and touched his arm lightly, drawing his attention.

Canada looked up. "Are you okay?" America asked.

"Yeah, I'm alright."

"Okay, cool. I'm really sorry about that." America was making full eye contact with him, and Canada realized two things at the exact same time.

One: America looked exhausted. Canada couldn't help but think that was impossible, since it wasn't like he was doing shit.

Two: America didn't seem to recognize him at all. Canada couldn't help but think that this was impossible, since they looked almost exactly the same.

America turned away, not bothering with a second glance, and entered the hospital room. He closed the door behind him.

"Matthew!" America pulled his sleeve gently. "Do you want cheese on your pasta?"

Canada looked up to see a waitress, who looked rather annoyed. "Um, no," Canada said.

America was eating a hamburger, which was to be expected of him. They didn't speak again for awhile.

"Oh!" America said. He snapped his fingers. "There's this one Christmas tradition I have, where I drive around my neighborhood and look at all the Christmas decorations. I would always get the Christmas drink from Starbucks before, though, so I could drink it and feel nice and festive while I looked, instead of like some old ass bastard looking at other people's houses. Do you want to do that?"

"Sure, America."

America paid, and then they went to Starbucks. Canada paid for the drinks this time— he got white hot chocolate, and America got his peppermint mocha— and they drove around England's neighborhood, which was built around the mansion because England had refused to sell it or give it up.

It was really nice. Nobody was particular festive, and it was freezing in the car because heaters aren't ever enough when you're driving on winter nights, but it felt like Christmas, almost wistfully. Canada couldn't point out how it felt that way, but it did. Maybe it was the lack of music, or the cold, or the Starbucks drink cozily in his hand at 8:45 PM on a Friday. It was like the cheap motel room of Christmas traditions— you were happy to be there, but you were detached from it.

(Linebreak.)

And then it was a new day. America insisted on England taking him to buy Christmas presents for Canada and Germany, because it was basically his fault that America hadn't brought gifts for them anyway.

He bought a book that he thought Canada would like. It was just something small, and yet America still couldn't think of anything for Germany.

He bought ingredients for a meal that night, because there was no way in hell that he was going to let England cook.

(Linebreak.)

That night, America spent over an hour making food. England had only just now informed him that he didn't have a grill (to which America had replied, "What the fuck is wrong with you?") and so he made steak in the oven.

And by the end he'd whipped up a rather excellent meal.

He set the plates down. "Germany! Get down here!" He called out.

"Thanks, America. It tastes great," England said after awhile.

Canada nodded. Germany murmured agreement.

America grinned. "Thanks! It's way better than you could've done!"

They sat in relative silence. "So, America, how was today for you?" Canada asked after a moment.

"Oh, it was awesome."

"What about you, England?" Canada turned to him.

"A bit less awesome. America insisted on my driving him everywhere, even though he drove perfectly well yesterday."

"But I was driving really slowly," America complained.

"Maybe slowing down a bit would be good for you," England quipped. "You always live like you're going to die soon."

"Well, at least I didn't need colonies to reach the top," America replied, smiling lightly.

"You're right, you just had to slaughter and steal from the Indians."

"Native Americans," America corrected. "And anyway, I apologized—,"

"Bitch—,"

And soon England and America were arguing.

"The thing is, it was different back then. That doesn't make up for it, but you didn't see anyone in your empire as equal. Not Canada or me, or fucking Ireland, whatever she's doing these days."

"Well, you know what, at least I didn't get so triggered by someone sinking my ship that I decided to join a World War—,"

"Cool it, limey," America hissed. "At least I didn't go to war with someone like, every five minutes for a nice, good bit, just because some random dead people from like two hundred years ago had a disagreement. And then come home every once in awhile and yell at your one kid constantly in front of your other kid."

England laughed. "Home? Do you really think I considered any time spent with you as being 'at home'?"

America looked a tiny bit hurt, but shrugged it off. Of course, he'd been more at ease when England was there with him as a colony. But then, England was a teenager at that point, so it made sense. "Well, clearly I mattered to you, since you spent, like, a hundred years being hung up over it!"

And then England just laughed, and America started laughing. It startled Canada and Germany, because they didn't know that England and America had agreed to start laughing if either of them got pushed too far while talking about the Revolutionary War or general colonial times, in order to avoid some ugly ass shit like America shutting down completely or England just bursting into tears. Especially since in the past few years they'd only seen each other during video calls or World Meetings.

Nobody spoke for the rest of the dinner. America noticed a few recurrences in this trip: awkward silence, and just doing things for the sake of doing them.

(Linebreak.)

The next day, America woke England up incredibly early in the morning so they could get groceries. He'd spent the entire night awake, and was a bit impatient.

"America, what the fuck? It's four-thirty in the morning."

"At least I'm not straddling you. Get up. You have to drive me to the store. Come on. It's really important that we hurry the fuck up, so get dressed and meet me at the car."

England fumbled into his clothes, combed his hair a bit, and brushed his teeth, Sure enough, America was at the car, already dressed and looking as if it was ten instead of four-forty. He pulled on the door handle pointedly.

England unlocked the door. America hopped inside.

"So, where do you want to go? It better be good, if you really felt the need to wake me up so utterly early."

America sighed. "Fine. I'll tell you. But if you tell a single person..."

And so America told him. England nodded, and then started the car and they drove off.

Twenty minutes later, America was just hopefully smiling as he waited at the cashier's. The cashier looked at his ID. For a second America almost thought that the world was fucked up enough for the cashier to tell him it was fake, but the cashier just nodded his approval. America took the bottles and left.

It felt nice to do that.

(Linebreak.)

Canada and Germany were eating breakfast. They weren't talking to each other. As it turned out, they both ate breakfast at around the same time when they were back at home. So there they were, eating cereal.

They were about to go their separate ways when—

"Hey!" America crashed through the door. "You two!" He was panting. "Germany! Canada!" He put down some brown and plastic bags, filled to the brim, and stepped in front of them. "I booked a reservation for you guys. Canada, it's under your name. Here's the information. Go." He pushed both of them towards the door. "Shoo! Get out!"

"America, I have never talked to Canada in my entire life," Germany said.

"Well, now's a perfect time!" He gave the piece of paper to Germany. "Go!" England brought more bags in, gave Canada the keys, and then locked them out.

"They could make a copy of that key and use it to break into your house," America said.

"What, I thought you couldn't exercise caution. You have a gun at your house, don't you?"

America unpacked everything quickly, throwing the bags on the floor. "You're not making anything today, England. Don't touch it." America lit a candle.

It smelled disgusting. Absolutely, utterly disgusting. England almost choked on it.

America waved a towel around, trying to spread the scent out as much as possible.

(Linebreak.)

Germany wished he hadn't went to England's house, because now he wasn't at England's house. He was on some thing with Canada.

He wasn't going to call it a date, but it was a fancy restaurant with expensive food, and neither of them knew what to say. It would've held the same tension if Canada and Germany had talked to each other, even once, ever. Still, they hadn't. Germany was pretty sure he'd only seen Canada one time, and he couldn't remember where it was, so maybe it had been America on a particularly bad day.

"So, Alfred said we should talk..."

"Do you always listen to him? This is stupider than his conspiracy about 9/11."

"That's different. He just doesn't want to accept what he lost that day. And in the following days. At least he's not one of those assholes that pesters the families of the victims."

"Do you always listen to him?"

"I haven't seen him since World War Two," Canada said, "and he didn't recognize me, so we didn't talk."

Germany chuckled. "That sounds like him."

"Yeah, I guess."

They ate quietly, without much to say.

Germany should've been at home. Even if Canada was the most sensible of the three other nations, it still would've been better to sing _Stille Nacht_ and give money to singing children.

He wondered why he went at all.

"America's nice, though," Canada said thoughtfully. "When I was little, he would take breaks from his studying to play with me or take me out so I could walk around and interact with other people."

"When you were little? I thought you were both twins?"

Canada nodded. "We are, but we're nations. He grew up much, much faster than I did."

"Why was he the one spending time with you?"

"England was always busy, fighting France and stuff like that." Canada paused. "Germany, do you think some people need something to be angry at?"

Germany frowned. "No, I don't. That's ridiculous."

Canada looked like he was about to disagree, but said nothing for awhile. Finally, "I think America hates me. I think he blames his broken relationship with England on— on me."

Germany wasn't sure of what to say.

(Linebreak.)

"They're almost home," America said. "England, can you try making some cereal? But try your hardest not to light it on fire. I know you're good at that, but don't do it."

England scoffed. "I can make cereal without setting it on fire," he said, a bit hurt.

"Okay," America said. "I believe you."

(Linebreak.)

Two minutes later, Germany opened the door. A large cloth on the counter was on fire, and England was scrambling frantically around it. America put it out using the fire extinguisher— and at that exact moment, the fire alarm went off.

Germany turned it off quickly. Canada reluctantly stepped inside. "Sorry, England was just trying to make a bowl of cereal."

(Linebreak.)

The next few days went by uneventfully. Germany didn't talk to anyone, because England, America, and Canada were busy enough amongst themselves.

And finally it was Christmas.

America woke everybody up one by one to open gifts. They all waited at the base of the stairs for him.

"Merry Christmas, guys!" He gave Canada his gift.

Canada opened it. "It's my favorite book! I figured you would really like it, dude. I hope you do." America clapped him on the back.

Germany was about to go back upstairs and sleep a bit more when America caught his wrist. "Hey, Germany, buddy— where are you going? Come on, I have a gift for you, too." America dragged him to the kitchen, balanced on one counter, and opened a cupboard.

He brought down some bread. It was sliced, with fruit clear to see inside. "I felt really bad about the fact that nobody was talking to you. I wanted to make you feel more at ease, but I-I couldn't do any of that religious stuff, so I made you this. It's not perfect, but... Merry Christmas, Germany."

Germany found himself smiling. "Thank you, America."

They all sat down that morning and shared _stollen, _a German holiday bread. To Germany, it did feel like Christmas, even if he wasn't at home.

(Linebreak.)

The next day, America had England drive him to the airport. England was acutely aware of the fact that he hadn't gotten anything, but he wasn't going to pry about it.

America stepped out of the car, taking his bag with him. He closed the door and started walking away.

England was about to drive off when the door was yanked open. America threw a ball of paper at him. "Merry Christmas, England," he winked and closed the door, walking away.

England unwrapped it. Inside was a hand carved doll dressed in a bright red military uniform. At first England thought that it was the same thing he'd given America all those years ago, but it was brand-new. The paint wasn't at all faded, ironically blood red.

The crumpled up ball of paper read:

_I hope you like it— I almost broke my arm making it!_

_-America_

**Hey guys. Here's the Christmas special, at last. Three days late, I know, and I'm sorry. This was partly inspired by "Everything's Gonna Be Cool This Christmas," or at least the beginning is.**

**A review would be great. Have a great day and stay safe. Merry belated Christmas!**


End file.
